#SampleSunday – June 5th

1 06 2011

The next few weeks on sample sunday, I’ll be showing samples from old writing folders.  I explain it all out HERE.

This week, two poems: both from the 1980s.  Typewriter early decade, Co-respondent middle decade.

TYPEWRITER ages me.  🙂  I’m not sure if you can replace the rhythm of tiptap, with clickclack.  Because you are missing the essential sound break of a carriage return of the zip.  Only someone who has written on a manual typewriter, may understand what I’m whittling on about.  Or not.

The photo is of my actual typewriter.  Or the model.  My own one, was thrown out some years ago, something I regret.  I was getting rid of a lot of old clutter in my life, and it was important to throw stuff out.  The typewriter you see pictured, is the one thing I disposed of in an entire skip of stuff, that I should have kept.  I rue the day.  Both poems were typed on it.   Changeling was started on it: I still have the first typed sheet.

CO-RESPONDENT  It was quite surprising to me, to re-read this one, and find the image of the new mouth being carved open on skin.  My readers will recognise that imagery from the last few chapters of Changeling.  And there, I’d used it, all those years ago, and that chapter was written in the past 9 months or so.  All that time, the imagery had been there in my mind, awaiting release. Wow.

TYPEWRITER
tiptap
tiptap
tiptap
zip
tiptap
tiptap
tiptap
zip
tiptap
tiptap
tiptap
zip
the most
glorious
sound
in the
whole wide
world
a universe
of sound
in
tiptap
tiptap
tiptap
zip


CO-RESPONDANT
‘So,’ she sniffed
‘you’re divorced
how quaint
What happened?
Another woman?’
‘No’
I said
‘We just
grew
apart.
Grew up.’
I guess.
‘There must be
another woman.’
Their eyes said.
everywhere
all the time
with their
inner understanding
that it probably hurt
too much
to admit
that there was
someone else
They would not be told.
could not hear.
for in their
world
there was only one
reason
one
cause
to desert a
marriage
a
husband
The other woman.
They would not hear.
And I would not speak.
not tell
of the pain
Of the neat line
across my arm
the seam the
doctor had stitched
across the extra
mouth
he had given me
And I would not tell.
of the pain
Of the mottles and marks
where teeth had sunk
too deep
too hard
to heal
And I would not tell.
And I would not tell.
And they would not hear.
So, silently
we made more tea
and supped
silently
as they
thought
of the other woman.
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